


we are the kids that you never can kill

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3986590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Him</i>, or as most people know him, Patrick Sharp, is an asshole.</p><p>He’s captain of the lacrosse team, valedictorian, lead actor in any production the drama department puts on, and he’s probably the most handsome eighteen year old Brandon’s ever seen.</p><p>Brandon <i>hates</i> him.</p><p>[A high school AU, involving angry kissing, an old Basset Hound, a broken soundboard, and a notebook with a bite mark in the corner]</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are the kids that you never can kill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [createadisaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/createadisaster/gifts).



> IT'S JENNA'S BIRTHDAY!!!
> 
> this is not the fic i was planning to write for her, but it's the fic that happened.
> 
> things of note: maybe 65% of this fic is based on real life things that have happened to me. i did make out backstage a lot. i did break a soundboard in the way it breaks in this fic. i did not, tragically, have a nemesis.
> 
> they're doing guys and dolls because guys and dolls is the best.
> 
> the title is from a walk the moon song that i've already forgotten the name of.
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](http://toewses.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/toewses)!

Brandon didn’t _mean_ to set the dumpster on fire.

Well, he kind of did, but a) it was totally Andy’s idea and b) how was he supposed to know there was a ton of flammable cardboard and shit inside it?

He’s being falsely accused, is his point, here.

And he still has to stand in front of the principal next to Andy and look appropriately sorry while Principal Q tears them both several new ones, and then tells them what they have to do as punishment.

Andy gets stuck with a tutoring gig, because he’s only a sophomore, but he’s taking college level English classes. He grins; easy work.

Apparently the world hates Brandon though, because Mr Q looks at him over his steepled fingers, and tells him he’s the next light tech for the drama department.

‘Mr Quenneville,’ he starts, outraged, but Mr Q waves them both out of the office silently.

‘The more you argue, you longer you’ll be stuck there,’ Andy mutters at him, dragging him out.

‘I am _not_ setting foot in the drama department,’ Brandon hisses. ‘I’d rather be expelled.’

Andy looks at him.

‘Okay, fine, maybe I wouldn’t,’ Brandon concedes. ‘But I refuse to spend any time with _him_.’

-

 _Him_ , or as most people know him, Patrick Sharp, is an asshole.

He’s captain of the lacrosse team, valedictorian, lead actor in any production the drama department puts on, and he’s probably the most handsome eighteen year old Brandon’s ever seen.

Brandon _hates_ him.

Luckily, for the first couple of days, he gets to hide in the tech booth, relearning how everything works. He waits until rehearsal is over and then ventures backstage to learn where everything is.

He meets other Brandon, the new stage manager, and they have a long and involved talk about rigging up new lights and whether Jonny, the director, will go for it.

‘Honestly,’ Brandon is saying, ‘even if I can get up there and clean or fix the lights we have, it’ll be ten times better.’ Other Brandon (‘Bolly,’ he says. ‘Call me Bolly, everyone does.’) is nodding along, making a note in his ringbinder, when Patrick and a kid with curly blond hair clatter back onto the stage, talking loudly.

Patrick nods at Bolly, and then his eyes slide right over Brandon like he’s not even there. Curly Hair fistbumps Bolly and grins at Brandon disarmingly. ‘Fresh meat?’

‘Engineer,’ Brandon says, ‘Brandon.’

‘Nice to meet you, engineer Brandon. I’m actor Patrick.’

Patrick, looking at his phone with disinterest, snorts.

‘Fuck you,’ actor Patrick says easily. ‘Patrick thinks he’s all that because he’s playing Sky, but he’s not so great.’

Brandon is watching him. He still hasn’t looked up from his phone. When the silence settles, he glances up, looks straight through Brandon, and looks over at actor Patrick. ‘Are we done here, Kaner? Because god knows you need to rehearse.’

‘Yeah yeah yeah,’ Kaner says. He grins at Brandon again. ‘See ya round, engineer Brandon.’

-

Brandon spends the next couple of days just watching the rehearsals, sketching out lighting plans. Jonny keeps coming and looking over his shoulder and making satisfied sounds and walking away, which Brandon thinks is-- good? He’s not really sure with Jonny.

He scowls at Patrick from a distance, standing loosely on the stage in sweatpants and a tank top, arms folded, hair slicked back. Patrick pays less than zero attention to him. Brandon imagines dropping a rig on him, just for a second, before he makes a vow to be Professional At All Times.

There are mixed results, to be honest with you.

-

Patrick keeps flirting with him.

Brandon thinks he’s imagining it at first, that he’s finally snapped and is hallucinating, when he’s halfway down a ladder with a coil of cable slung over his shoulder and Patrick appears out of the gloom.

‘Hey,’ he says, innocently. Brandon grunts in response, and keeps duct taping the cable to the wall as he descends.

‘That’s not very nice,’ Patrick says, putting his foot on the ladder to steady it. Brandon grits his teeth against his knee jerk response of, ‘you’re not very nice.’

‘What do you want, Sharp?’ Brandon says, levelly, ripping off another strip of duct tape viciously.

Patrick shrugs. ‘Lacrosse doesn’t start for another half hour.’

‘So you’ve come to harass me,’ Brandon says.

Patrick smirks. ‘Do you want to be harassed? Because you know, I can fill that need for you.’

‘Where’s Kaner?’ Brandon asks, unlooping the last coil and crouching to duct tape the last stretch of it to the wall.

Patrick shrugs. ‘He and Jonny went… somewhere. I didn’t ask. Hence, you get the pleasure of my company.’

‘Go bother someone else,’ Brandon says. ‘I’m busy.’

He stands up and comes nose to nose with Patrick when he turns around. His eyes are very green. Brandon makes a soft sound. Patrick is still smirking.

‘But where’s the fun in that?’ he says quietly, leaning in just enough that his nose brushes with Brandon’s, lowering his voice to just above a whisper.

Brandon’s tongue darts out, wets his lower lip. He doesn’t know what to say. He blinks, and Patrick suddenly moves away. ‘See you around, Brandon,’ he says, and leaves Brandon standing in the gloom with a roll of duct tape jammed over one wrist, and a trail of cable in the other hand.

-

Patrick is ignoring him again. Brandon’s been getting more involved in rehearsals, and the lighting plan is slowly coming together. They’re doing a test run tech rehearsal, so he can map all the lights properly, load them into the computer. There’s a lot of sitting and waiting around for the actors, but that’s not Brandon’s fault.

‘Alright,’ he says, consulting his notes. ‘Next scene, guys. We’re almost done for today, I promise.’

Kaner smiles at him reassuringly, and takes his place. Patrick stays where he is, talking to one of the freshmen girls in the chorus. He’s doing his shy smile routine for her, and she’s flushing.

‘Come on guys,’ Brandon says. ‘It only works if you all listen to me.’

‘Patrick,’ Jonny says, warning tone, and Patrick sighs, heaves himself up from where he was kicking his legs into the orchestra pit, and takes his mark, centre stage. He runs through the scene perfectly a half dozen times as Brandon makes notes and adjustments in the computer system, and as soon as he’s no longer required, he vanishes into the shadows of backstage after a disdainful look at Brandon.

Brandon grits his teeth. He’s been doing that a lot recently when it comes to Patrick.

Finally, _finally_ , he gets to the end of act one, and he lets them go.

He’s clearing shit off the stage when he hears someone behind him and spins around. It’s just Patrick, wearing tight jeans instead of the sweatpants he uses to dance in.

‘You’re jumpy,’ he says neutrally, bending down to pick up a couple of abandoned props.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t be sneaking around,’ Brandon retorts.

Patrick offers him a quick grin, but just keeps picking up props.

Brandon scowls, and sits cross legged to start organising his gels back into their boxes.

‘You really know what you’re doing, huh,’ he hears Patrick say, and when Brandon looks up, he’s flicking through the notes he left on the table.

‘I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t,’ Brandon says evenly.

‘Where’d you learn?’ Patrick asks. Brandon stares at him.

‘You’re unbelievable,’ he says, standing up and taking the notes off him.

Patrick looks genuinely confused when Brandon leaves, notes in one hand, box of gels under the other arm.

-

When Brandon was a freshman, he joined the drama department. He was too shy to audition, but he was tall, and eager, so they let him run around backstage, working with scenery.

Marian was the stage manager then, and whatever he didn’t know about this theatre wasn’t worth knowing. He figured out Brandon’s knack for electronics pretty fast, put him to work with the lights. Brandon loved it.

He’s fiddling with one of the bigger floodlights on his own one day when he meets Patrick Sharp, only a junior but everyone knows him already, calls him Patrick. Brandon’s nursing a pretty spectacular crush on him, in all honesty.

Brandon smiles wide. ‘Hey,’ he says. Patrick looks at him.

‘You’re in my way,’ he says, bored. ‘And you’re doing that wrong.’

Brandon flushes.

‘I’m new,’ he offers, but Patrick interrupts him.

‘I don’t care,’ he says. ‘You’re still in my way.’

‘Oh,’ Brandon says, flustered, turning redder. Patrick sighs, and shoves past him, muttering something about fucking freshmen.

He ran into Patrick a few more times over the course of the semester, and he just got ruder. Brandon did one production with the department and then quit to join the school newspaper. They asked him to review a musical from the drama department. He’s spent the first four months of high school watching Patrick push people around and act like because he’s the first junior to be named captain of a sports team in the history of the school, or the lead in every production the drama department ever does, that he’s better than other people.

Brandon watches him hit on a girl one time, grinning and grinning and grinning until she shakes her head, cheeks flushed, and he scowls, spits a word at her and stalks off.

So he doesn’t review the musical. He doesn’t interview the actors in it.

Mostly he does opinion pieces. Write ups of soccer games, an expose on the school budget. No drama, and no lacrosse. It’s not easy to avoid a guy like Patrick Sharp, but Brandon does okay.

-

He doesn’t see Patrick for a few days after their last meeting backstage. There’s no reason for him to be at rehearsal while they run through the final tweaks of staging, so he keeps his distance.

But then it’s the tech rehearsal; the first real test. Brandon kind of has to be there.

He shows up just as they’re supposed to get started, throws himself in the lighting booth, and stays there for the whole rehearsal. He’s got Jonny and Nick, the sound engineer, on the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. It’s great. He doesn’t have to talk to anyone he doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t have to see anyone.

He literally runs into Patrick as he’s heading backstage for his ladders. There are a couple of lights just a little bit off, he thinks they must have been knocked when the scenery was installed yesterday.

Patrick drops his script, and snaps his head up, glaring at Brandon. It softens almost immediately though. Brandon looks at him, carefully neutral.

‘You left in a hurry yesterday,’ Patrick says, picking his script up.

Brandon shrugs. ‘Nothing to stay for,’ he says. ‘Excuse me.’

Patrick reaches out, takes a firm hold on his elbow. Brandon freezes. ‘Let go of me,’ he says, low and dangerous.

To Patrick’s credit, he does let go, lets Brandon stalk past him.

He follows him deeper backstage, to where his stepladders are kept, out of the way of the rig.

Brandon turns around to tell him to fuck off, but Patrick’s _there_ , all of a sudden, so close he can feel his breath hot on his jaw.

Patrick kisses him, a little rough, a little mean. Brandon kisses him back for just a second, just long enough for Patrick’s tongue to press against his lips, and then his eyes slam open, and he shoves him again.

‘What the fuck was that?’ he asks, harsh. Patrick leans forward again, sucks on Brandon’s lower lip, and Brandon lets him, kisses him a little bit longer this time.

Patrick’s a good kisser. Brandon lets his hands settle on Patrick’s hips and he tilts his head into the kiss, lets Patrick lick into his mouth slowly.

‘No,’ Brandon says between kisses, draws himself back, moves back until his back hits the workbench Bolly keeps back here. ‘We aren’t doing this.’

Patrick looks at him. It’s dark, but he looks confused. He takes a half step forward. ‘Why not?’ he asks.

‘Because you’re an asshole,’ Brandon says firmly. Not _because if we start, I won’t want to stop._

Patrick looks surprised at that. Brandon takes advantage of it to make a run for it. He gets off school grounds before he realises he’s left his notebook on the table in the light booth.

The notebook is gone when he gets back there, and he curses. Nick must have grabbed it on the way out.

-

‘I think this is yours?’ someone says to Brandon while half his body is upside down, hanging through the trapdoor at the back of the stage and stretching to reach the gel he just dropped, but _really_ needs.

‘What?’ he says, twisting to squint up at the spotlight he’s been shining under the stage to see the gel. There’s someone silhouetted against it, holding a notebook.

‘The notebook. It’s got all kinds of stuff about lighting plans in. It must be yours.’

Patrick. Brandon sighs, and hoists himself out of the trapdoor, ignoring the hand Patrick holds out to help him.

‘Thanks,’ Brandon says, begrudgingly, taking the notebook. It’s definitely his, teeth marks in the corner and all.

‘Why does it have a bite mark in the corner?’ Patrick asks.

Brandon sighs. ‘Andy. Don’t ask.’

Patrick blinks, but accepts it. ‘They’re good,’ he says, suddenly.

Brandon looks at him. ‘What?’

‘The plans,’ Patrick says. ‘I had a look, to see if there was a name anywhere. You really know what you’re doing.’

‘Yeah,’ Brandon says. ‘I do.’

‘You should let me take you out sometime,’ Patrick says, flashing him a smile. Brandon suspects if he didn’t know better, the smile would absolutely work on him. Embarrassingly so.

‘No,’ Brandon says, when he realises Patrick’s waiting for an answer. His face falls as soon as Brandon speaks.

‘Why _not_?’ he asks.

‘Because you’re still an asshole,’ Brandon says.

Patrick frowns. ‘That’s what you said yesterday.’

‘Still true,’ Brandon says. ‘Why is this even surprising news?’

‘Because I didn’t think I’d been an asshole to you specifically,’ Patrick says, blunt and honest, if nothing else.

Brandon stares a little bit.

‘You literally single handedly chased me out of the drama department in my freshman year,’ he says, incredulously. ‘How do you not remember that?’

Patrick’s brow creases in thought. ‘Oh,’ he says, suddenly. ‘ _Oh_. Brandon--’

‘No,’ Brandon says firmly. ‘Not doing this.’

‘I didn’t recognise you,’ Patrick says. ‘I had no idea--’

‘So as long as you never remember being a dick to me, you don’t understand why I wouldn’t want to date you?’ Brandon asks.

Patrick shrugs, spreads his hands helplessly.

‘You’re incredible,’ Brandon says, and follows it up with, ‘That’s not a compliment.’ Patrick’s face falls a little.

‘How about we make out angrily backstage again?’ Patrick offers.

Brandon opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again. ‘ _No_.’

Patrick pouts. ‘But--’

‘I don’t care how good a kisser you are. Last night was a dumb mistake. I’m not getting into this with you. Please just leave me alone to do my job.’

Patrick pauses. ‘You think I’m a good kisser?’

Brandon throws his notebook at him.

-

Brandon’s backed against the car backstage. The metal is cold where his shirt’s ridden up, he has Patrick’s tongue in his mouth and his hands in his hair.

Patrick pulls away and bites gently at the hinge of his jaw. Brandon’s hand tightens in his hair, and he drags Patrick away and ducks his own head down. Patrick’s wearing an open collar shirt. Brandon sucks at the skin over his collarbone until it’s purple-red and bruised. Patrick makes a soft sound, and kisses him again.

Brandon lets him for another moment, and then pulls away, untangles his hands from Patrick’s hair. Patrick’s wrecked, breathless, his lips are red and swollen, and Brandon can see the hickey peeking out of his shirt. Patrick brings a hand up, presses fingertips into it, and grins. He buttons his shirt up a little more.

‘You sure we can’t go out some time?’

Brandon just picks his notebook and toolkit up and vanishes further backstage. There’s a rig he needs to repair.

-

The tech rehearsal is a disaster. One of the rigs is faulty, and Bolly gets landed in detention, so they have to run it with his DSM, Ben, who is very well meaning, but doesn’t know backstage or the play like Bolly does.

Brandon wants to cry by the time it’s done. Jonny and Kaner got into a screaming match that resulted in both of them stalking off, and Nick had fucked up the sound levels, giving Brandon a ringing in his ears for a half hour afterwards.

He’s stalking around the lighting booth after it’s over, picking up the box of pens he’d thrown on the floor after the seventh stoppage in the same page.

‘You okay?’ Patrick’s leaning against the door frame of the booth. ‘We’ve… had better tech runs.’

Brandon snorts, picks up another pen. He crawls under the desk to pick the last couple, and when he comes out and stands up, Patrick’s right there. Within grabbing reach.

Brandon kisses him because he doesn’t want to talk to him. Patrick drops his bottle of water and winds his arms around Brandon’s waist. Brandon bites his lip, hard.

Patrick pulls back. His lower lip is bleeding. ‘Hey,’ he says, softly. Brandon won’t look him in the eye. ‘Bad runs happen, okay? You don’t have to beat yourself up about it.’ He touches his lip with a thumb. ‘Or me, for that matter.’ He licks at the blood, and winces.

Brandon kisses him again, just as rough, and Patrick pulls away, just as firm. ‘We’re gonna run it again tomorrow. And it’s going to be perfect,’ he says. He has his hands on Brandon’s shoulders, thumbs pressing into the dips above his collarbones.

Brandon shoves his hands off. ‘I’m going home,’ he says.

‘Do you want a lift?’ Patrick says. ‘It’s raining pretty hard out there.’

Brandon ignores him, but stops when he gets to the doors of the theatre and hears the rain thundering against the parking lot. He lives a twenty minute bike ride away.

Patrick stops next to him. ‘Seriously, I can drive you. My truck’s just over there.’

Brandon sighs, and surrenders. He shoves his notebook underneath his hoodie, and they make a run for the truck together.

Patrick’s truck looks about as old as Brandon is, and he has to clear the passenger seat of trash before Brandon can get in. He shakes his head when the door is shut, spattering Patrick with rainwater. Patrick returns the favour afterwards. He looks like some kind of shampoo model. It’s hideously unfair, Brandon thinks, darkly, and starts giving directions to his house.

They don’t really talk, but when they reach Brandon’s house, Patrick pulls up outside and turns the engine off.

‘Tomorrow,’ he says. ‘It’s going to be fine. Better than fine. You’ll be awesome.’

‘Thanks,’ Brandon says, after a pause. He pulls his hood up again and ducks out of the car, makes a run for the porch.

‘Who was that?’ his ma asks, when he’s in the house, pulling his damp hoodie off and dumping it in the dryer as soon as he goes into the kitchen.

‘Just a friend,’ Brandon says automatically. His ma looks at him like she doesn’t believe him.

-

‘Told you so,’ Patrick says, when Brandon’s helping Nick collect all the mics back in. Nick rolls his eyes, and disappears into the men’s dressing room to harass them into giving back the last missing mic.

Brandon pulls a face, and keeps winding the wires up neatly.

‘Does it ever get boring?’ he asks, suddenly.

Patrick looks at him.

‘Being right all the time,’ Brandon says.

Patrick laughs. It’s a nice laugh, Brandon notes.

‘Can I-- you want a hand with that?’ Patrick offers. It’s the first time Brandon’s seen him anything but perfectly poised, confident as hell. He kind of seems nervous, Brandon realises.

‘Sure,’ he says, and hands over a tangle of wires with a mic hanging off the end of it.

Patrick fiddles with it for a couple of minutes. ‘What asshole returned this mic like this anyway?’ he complains, scowling at a knot.

Brandon picks up the battery pack, and turns it over. ‘Whoever wears mic two,’ he says, and goes back to his own mic.

‘Oh,’ Patrick says. When Brandon looks up, he’s a little pink, jaw set firmly.

‘You wear mic two, don’t you?’ Brandon says.

Patrick turns pinker, and Brandon has to struggle not to laugh. ‘Maybe,’ Patrick allows, eventually.

‘I feel like there’s a lesson to be learned here,’ Brandon suggests.

‘Shut up,’ Patrick says, tugging in vain to get one of the knots out.

Brandon snorts, and that’s it, he’s laughing uncontrollably, bent over the pile of wires.

Patrick lasts about twenty seconds longer, tries to tell Brandon it’s not that funny, but when Nick comes back in with the last mic, they both have tears in their eyes, and Brandon’s clutching at his stomach.

‘You guys are weird,’ Nick says, and sticks the mic back in its box. ‘Can you handle the rest of these? I wanna go run a hanging mic from the rig before tomorrow, see if I can pick up the dialogue in the crowd scenes better.’

Brandon nods, and tries valiantly to stand up straight. ‘Yeah, I got it.’

He and Patrick get all the mics uncoiled and packed away pretty quickly, even if they keep sniggering at random intervals.

Brandon glances out at the stage, where he can see the lower half of Nick on top of a ladder in the middle of the stage. ‘I should go help,’ he says, gesturing with his thumb.

Patrick kisses him as soon as he turns around.

Brandon winds his arms around his neck and lets Patrick back him towards the desk.

‘Um,’ he says. Patrick shushes him, and bites his lower lip. Brandon bites back, but then Patrick ducks down to scoop hands under his thighs and lifts Brandon onto the desk.

Brandon wraps his legs around Patrick’s waist, and leans back, bringing Patrick with him.

He hears a creak of plastic, and then a snapping sound.

‘Uh,’ Patrick says, pulling away. ‘I think we broke the sound board.’

Brandon sits up and climbs off the desk, turns around and pokes at one of the dials. It comes off in his hand.

‘Uh,’ he says. ‘Oops.’

‘Run for it?’ Patrick suggests. Brandon looks out the window, and sees Nick still up the ladder.

‘Run for it,’ Brandon agrees.

-

They hit the parking lot at a run, Patrick laughing breathlessly.

Brandon climbs into the passenger seat of his truck without thinking about it.

Patrick apparently drives to his own house without thinking about it, either.

‘Oh,’ he says, looking out the window. ‘I wasn’t-- I can drive you home. Unless...’ he trails off.

‘Unless?’ Brandon prompts.

‘You wanna stay for dinner?’

‘I--’ Brandon thinks about it. ‘Sure,’ he says. It’s just George at home, which means Brandon’s ordering pizza or eating cereal for dinner.

‘I’ll drive you home after,’ Patrick says, getting out of the car.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Brandon says. ‘I, uh, I’d love to stay.’

-

Patrick’s house is-- not what he was expecting. The furniture is all mismatched, if immaculate and there’s an ancient Basset Hound asleep under the coffee table.

Patrick crouches down to rub her belly lightly, but she doesn’t wake up.

‘Hey, Bells,’ he says, quietly, before standing up and leading the way to the kitchen.

‘What are you feeling?’ Patrick asks him, opening the fridge.

‘Whatever, man,’ Brandon says. ‘As long as there’s no fish, I’m good.’

Patrick peers around the fridge door at him. ‘What do you have against fish?’

‘I don’t like it,’ Brandon says, pulling a face. Patrick laughs, and sticks his head back in the fridge.

Brandon’s phone buzzes. _u and sharp are dead men walking_

‘I think Leds found the sound board,’ Brandon says. ‘I feel kind of bad, actually.’

 _?_ he sends back, feigning innocence.

 _u know exactly what i mean_ , Nick sends, and then a picture of the sound board.

Brandon sends another question mark, and switches his phone to silent.

‘I owe him beer,’ Brandon says, and joins Patrick by the fridge, hooking his chin over his shoulder automatically. ‘Can we have pasta?’

Patrick glances at him. ‘Sure,’ he says, sounding amused. ‘You wanna go grab it? It’s in the pantry.’

When Brandon gets back with a box of rotini, Patrick’s washing vegetables in the sink, and there’s a package of chicken on the counter.

The old Basset Hound has wandered in and is sitting in the doorway, waiting to get in the way, by the look of things. Brandon drops the pasta on the counter and goes to sit cross legged next to her, scratching her ears. She flops down, head on his thigh.

‘What’s her name again?’ Brandon asks, rubbing her belly.

‘Bella,’ Patrick answers, getting a knife from the block.

‘Hey, Bella,’ Brandon murmurs. She huffs at him and licks his hand. ‘I love her,’ he announces.

‘She’s pretty great,’ Patrick admits. ‘We got her when I was three, I don’t really remember her not being around.’

Brandon scratches her belly a little harder, and she makes a happy sound.

Patrick throws something into a pot and it starts sizzling, filling the kitchen with the smell of garlic and chilli.

Brandon’s stomach rumbles. Patrick laughs.

‘Maybe I forgot to eat lunch because I was busy worrying about the tech run,’ Brandon admits.

Patrick throws a crescent of pepper at him. Brandon catches it in the hand that isn’t stroking Bella, and crunches it, grinning at Patrick with it hanging out of his mouth.

‘You’re gross,’ Patrick says, and looks down at the chopping board again.

Eventually, Bella gets bored of Brandon’s love and adoration and belly rubs, and heaves herself to her feet to wander back to her cushion, and Brandon picks himself up off the floor.

Patrick has a pot of pasta and sauce that smells amazing, and Brandon makes a noise when he peers into it. ‘Is it ready?’ he asks.

Patrick points at the sink. ‘Wash your hands, I’ll grab some bowls.’

‘Yes, mom,’ Brandon says, but he washes his hands anyway, pokes around a couple of drawers until he finds some forks.

They eat on the couch, TSN in the background. There’s a picture of a kid Brandon guesses is Patrick on the mantelpiece in tiny hockey gear, and there’s a stick mounted on the wall behind them.

‘You play?’ Patrick asks, following Brandon’s gaze.

‘Not for a long time,’ Brandon says. ‘I got hit really hard when I was a kid. I was advised to pick a different sport.’

Patrick’s face twists. ‘I’m sorry,’ he offers.

Brandon shrugs, and takes a mouthful of pasta. ‘Oh my god,’ he says. ‘This is amazing. Cook for me forever.’

Patrick turns a little pink.

Brandon swallows his mouthful. ‘I don’t really miss it,’ he says. ‘I got into other stuff.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Long distance running. I play the guitar. Photography. I, uh, I’m gonna go to art school.’

‘Huh,’ Patrick says. ‘That’s-- huh.’

Brandon shrugs. ‘I like it, so.’

‘No, no, it’s cool,’ Patrick says, through his mouthful of pasta. ‘I just didn’t know.’

‘I’m gonna go to med school,’ Patrick offers. ‘My dad wants me to go to Harvard, but...’ he pulls a face.

‘Where do you want to go?’ Brandon asks. He puts his empty bowl aside.

‘University of Washington. It’s got the best program for primary care, but he thinks I should aim higher.’

‘Higher than the best?’

‘Higher than being “just a doctor”.’ Patrick balances his bowl on his lap to free his hands up for air quotes. ‘He thinks I should go into research.’

Brandon hums in sympathy.

‘Whatever,’ Patrick says. ‘I gotta get into pre-med first, you know?’

‘Figure it out from there,’ Brandon agrees.

Patrick nods, and finishes the last bite. ‘You wanna wash or dry? Mom’ll flip if she comes home to dirty dishes.’

Brandon chooses wash, and flicks bubbles at Patrick all of four times before he gets boxed into the counter and kissed into submission.

‘You win, you win,’ he laughs, Patrick’s lips on his jaw.

‘Damn right I do,’ Patrick says, smug, before pulling away.

Brandon drains the sink and dries his hands, picking his watch up from the windowsill and glancing at the time. ‘I should probably head home,’ he says, reluctantly.

Patrick’s watching him, when he looks up. Brandon can’t figure out what the expression on his face is.

‘Sure,’ he says, and grabs his keys from the table. He stops to scratch Bella’s ears on the way out again. He keeps surprising Brandon.

-

Opening night is amazing.

Like, Brandon doesn’t tend to brag about this sort of thing, but every cue from tech is perfect, even if Nick complains about having to use the back-up soundboard (which is functionally identical to the one Brandon and Patrick broke, he would just like to point out) the entire show, muttering darkly into his headset until Bolly tells him to cut it the fuck out.

Brandon hangs around in the tech room after, sorting and resorting everything, helping Nick collect mics. He has to brave the girl’s dressing room on account of him being gay and Nick having a crush on Duncs’ girlfriend Kelly-Rae, who’s playing Sarah, and therefore incapable of knocking on the door and asking politely for the mics, but by the time he finally gets out into the parking lot, there’s just his bike left on the rack, and Patrick’s truck.

‘Nice work,’ Patrick says from behind him, making him jump.

‘Thanks,’ Brandon says, readjusting his bag. ‘Uh, you too.’

Patrick grins his Sky Masterton smile, and makes Brandon snort.

‘I’m starving,’ Patrick announces. ‘Come get dinner with me.’

‘I should, uh, head home,’ Brandon says, gesturing at his bike.

‘Come on,’ Patrick coaxes. ‘I’m paying.’

Brandon bristles. ‘I can pay for my own dinner.’

‘Does that mean you’re coming?’ Patrick asks, smooth as anything.

‘Ugh,’ Brandon says. ‘Fine. I want Mexican.’

-

Patrick takes him to a tiny hole in the wall place, where everything is dirt cheap, and they don’t even ask Patrick for ID when he orders a couple of beers.

‘So,’ he says, through a mouthful of guacamole. ‘Art school.’

Brandon flushes. ‘I wanna go to this school in Chicago,’ he says. ‘But I don’t know if my parents can afford it, so I gotta get a scholarship.’

‘Are you good?’ Patrick asks.

‘Am I good?’ Brandon parrots.

‘At art,’ Patrick says, waving his fork around.

‘Oh,’ Brandon says, looks down at his plate. ‘I guess,’ he says. ‘I like portraits, so.’

Patrick kicks him under the table, gently. ‘If you’re as good with your camera as you are with lights, I think you’ll do okay.’

Brandon smiles automatically, and Patrick grins back, and steals Brandon’s beer.

-

Brandon’s kind of buzzed when Patrick drops him off, but there are no lights on anywhere, so he thinks he’s gotten away with it.

He’s too wired to sleep, even though it’s almost midnight and he has another twelve hour day tomorrow. He flops down on his bed and stares at the glow in the dark stars that litter his ceiling.

Patrick had kissed him on the cheek when he got out of the truck, trailed his fingers over Brandon’s forearm. It was weirdly soft, Brandon thinks.

His phone beeps with a text, and he rolls over to grab it out of his bag.

_want me to pick u up tomorrow? will give u extra 30 mins in bed_

Brandon texts a smiley face back without thinking about it.

-

Patrick turns up with tea.

‘Marry me,’ Brandon says into his London Fog.

Patrick laughs, and sips at his own drink peacefully.

-

It becomes a routine.

Patrick picks him up in the morning, and they spend all day together in the drama department.

And then it’s Friday, and it’s closing night, and Jonny’s making a speech about hard work paying off and how everyone should be proud of what they did.

Kaner pretends to cry and gets a Tootsie Roll thrown at him.

Brandon watches Patrick disappear backstage the second Jonny’s done talking.

‘I swear to god, Patrick, if you jump out at me I’m never kissing you again,’ Brandon says, picking his way through the scenery.

He finds him hiding up on the catwalk, where Bolly usually puts the freshman to work. He doesn’t look up when Brandon sits next to him.

‘What’s up?’ Brandon asks, nudging at him.

Patrick shrugs, twists his mouth. ‘Guess I just realised that this is the last show I’m gonna do before graduating.’

‘Gotta graduate some time,’ Brandon offers.

Patrick snorts a soft laugh. ‘I guess. It’s just-- it’s weird, you know? I’ll be heading to college in a couple of months.’

Brandon shrugs. ‘You’ve still got some time. Playoffs. Prom. Graduation. Busy few weeks.’

Patrick pulls a face. ‘I’m not going to prom.’

‘Oh,’ Brandon says. ‘How come?’

He wrinkles his nose. ‘It’s dumb. I’d rather go somewhere I don’t have to spike the punch to have a good time.’

‘What if someone asks you?’ Brandon asks, carefully.

Patrick glances at him. ‘Who’s gonna ask me?’

‘One of the myriad of girls that follow you around that you pretend not to notice?’ Brandon says, dry.

Patrick laughs, but doesn’t answer.

‘We should head back for soundcheck before Jonny has an aneurysm,’ Brandon says eventually, and gets up, wiping the dust off his pants.

He’s heading for the ladder when Patrick smacks him on the ass, and he whirls around.

‘You had dust on you,’ Patrick says, innocently.

Brandon whacks him in the chest. ‘You had dust,’ he says, before turning around and climbing down the ladder.

Patrick catches him at the bottom and kisses him, quickly. Brandon barely has time to register that they’re kissing before Patrick pulls away again. ‘For luck,’ he says, and disappears to the dressing room.

‘Even I know you’re not supposed to use the L word!’ Brandon shouts after him.

-

Get out is-- long.

Brandon’s filthy by the end of it, has been up in the rafters for forty five minutes, lowering the lights and mics to Nick, who somehow got the easy job.

(‘I don’t know how to get all those lights unhooked properly, it’ll be _way_ faster if you do it.’)

‘Come on, techies,’ Patrick says, when they’re packing everything away. He looks immaculate. Brandon looks homeless. ‘After party at my house!’

Brandon looks down at his shirt, which is covered in grey dust and damp with sweat, and raises an eyebrow.

Patrick rolls his eyes. ‘I’ll drive you home to get changed first, princess.’

Brandon scowls, but when he’s done with the lights and said his goodbyes to Nick, Patrick’s still waiting for him in the front row, spinning his keys on his finger.

\--

Brandon’s ma hates Patrick.

He disappears upstairs to get changed, comes down in a button up and jeans, hair curling where he stuck his head under the faucet to wash the dust out. Patrick’s sitting at the island in the kitchen, hands in his lap, talking to Brandon’s dad about his college plans. He smiles when he sees Brandon come into the room.

Brandon’s ma collars him just as they’re heading out to the truck.

‘I’ll just be a second,’ he tells Patrick, who grins and nods and heads out by himself.

‘I don’t trust that boy,’ his ma says. ‘He’s too charming. Overly polite. And far too handsome.’

‘Ma,’ Brandon says slowly. ‘You don’t like him because he’s friendly and handsome?’

‘ _Too_ handsome,’ she says, firmly. ‘That boy will break your heart.’

‘ _Ma_.'

‘I’m just saying,’ she says, and tugs at his collar until he bends down for a kiss. ‘Be careful.’

‘Always am,’ he says, and kisses the top of her head. ‘I’ll let you know if I’m gonna be late, or if I’m crashing at Andy’s.’

Brandon’s ma smiles at that. ‘He’s a good boy, that Andrew.’

‘I know, ma,’ Brandon says. ‘I gotta go though, we’ll be late. Love you!’ He kisses her again and takes off, jogging to the truck and hopping into the passenger seat.

‘Hey,’ Patrick says, starting the engine. ‘You uh, you look good.’

Brandon flushes. ‘Uh, thanks. You too.’

Patrick winks. ‘I know.’

‘Asshole,’ Brandon says, accidentally sounding way more fond than he means to.

-

Patrick’s house is just as impressive packed with theatre kids. They fight their way to the kitchen for a couple of drinks, and then try to find somewhere less crowded, and end up in the back yard.

‘Where’s Bella?’ Brandon asks.

‘Sleeping in my mom and dad’s room,’ Patrick says. ‘She’s pretty deaf, she won’t even wake up, probably.’ He’s sprawled out on the decking, head on Brandon’s thigh. The party inside is thumping gently, but it’s a pretty isolated house, Brandon doesn’t think they’ll have any trouble with neighbours.

Brandon puts a hand on Patrick’s hair without thinking, scratching at the scalp, and Patrick smiles and hums. ‘Gonna just stay here forever,’ he says, content, and Brandon laughs.

‘You think so?’ He jumps his thigh up and down and Patrick’s beer sloshes over the rim of his cup and down his chin.

‘You’re an asshole,’ Patrick says, sputtering and sitting up to wipe the beer away.

Brandon shrugs.

‘I don’t know why I like you,’ Patrick grumbles, looking in his cup at the inch or so of beer in the bottom. ‘Gimme your beer.’

‘Welcome to it,’ Brandon says, handing it over. ‘Beer is gross.’

‘You’re gross,’ Patrick counters, taking a mouthful, and lying back down on Brandon’s thigh. Brandon resists jerking his leg again, and goes back to carding a hand through his hair.

‘It was a good show, wasn’t it?’ Brandon asks, suddenly.

Patrick tilts his head to look up at him. ‘Yeah, B. It was real good.’

Brandon nods.

‘Hey,’ Patrick says. ‘C’mere.’ He sits up and twists around, pulls Brandon in for a kiss with a hand in the pit of his hip.

Brandon makes a shocked sound into the kiss, and Patrick laughs a little.

‘Been wanting to do that all night.’

‘Oh,’ Brandon says. ‘You should do it again then. I mean--’ Patrick kisses him again, and then stands up, grabbing Brandon’s hand and dragging him around the side of the house, where there’s a tree with wooden blocks nailed into them.

‘When I was a sophomore, I was dating this girl, Sophia,’ Patrick says, starting to climb. ‘My mom hated her, so I used to sneak out of the house to see her. Chris helped me nail these blocks in so I could climb in and out of my bedroom window without falling and dying.’

‘Thank god for Chris,’ Brandon says, wry, but follows Patrick up the tree. Climbing in through the bedroom window proves a little tricky, and he maybe loses his balance a little and falls on top of Patrick, trying to help him over the windowsill, but lying on his rug and giggling together doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world, somehow.

Patrick kisses him again, rolls over so he’s half lying on Brandon, one hand on his chest and the other on his jaw, thumb just pressing at the hinge of it. Brandon winds his arms around Patrick’s neck and kisses back. He can still hear the music from the party, but fainter.

‘This okay?” Patrick asks, unbuttoning Brandon’s shirt with one hand.

Brandon nods, and reaches down to help him, but Patrick slaps at his hand. ‘I got this,’ he says, and undoes another button with a flourish, ducking his head down to bite Brandon’s collarbone.

Brandon makes a soft sound, and tips his head back. Patrick finishes unbuttoning his shirt and trails his fingertips under the waistband of Brandon’s jeans.

Brandon arches into the touch gently, and Patrick grins against his skin, where he’s sucking a bruise high up on Brandon’s chest.

‘Gonna make you feel so good,’ Patrick mumbles against his skin, before kissing his way down Brandon’s chest until he’s bent over Brandon’s zipper, popping the button and then teasing the zipper down with his teeth. Brandon has a hand fisted in the rug, and another hovering over Patrick’s hair.

Patrick mouths at his dick through his underwear, and Brandon moans. ‘You can touch, if you want,’ Patrick says. ‘I don’t mind.’

Brandon buries his hand in Patrick’s hair immediately and Patrick laughs, blowing hot air over the damp material. Brandon squirms.

‘I got you,’ Patrick murmurs, hooking his fingers in Brandon’s underwear and tugging until his dick bobs free. He glances up at Brandon, who’s propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Patrick. His hair is falling into his face.

‘Can I?’ Patrick asks. Brandon swallows, and nods.

Patrick runs his hands up Brandon’s thighs. Brandon can feel the calluses on his palms catching on the material of his jeans.

When Patrick mouths at the tip of Brandon’s cock, Brandon tightens the hand in Patrick’s hair automatically. Patrick winces.

‘Sorry,’ Brandon says, unclenches his hand.

‘It’s okay,’ Patrick says. ‘I kinda like it.’

Brandon has no idea what to do with that. He tugs Patrick forward a little, and makes a sound when Patrick slides his lips down him slowly, until he chokes a little, has to back off.

‘Are you okay?’ Brandon asks.

Patrick laughs. ‘Have you ever had a blowjob before?’

Brandon flushes, and shakes his head. Patrick’s expression does something weird.

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Well. This is gonna rock your world.’ He grins, and seals his lips around the head of Brandon’s dick and sucks, hard, and Brandon’s hips jump.

Way, way too soon, Brandon’s pulling on Patrick’s hair and gasping, ‘Gonna come, gonna--’

Patrick hums, and stays exactly where he is, and Brandon comes in his mouth with a long, drawn out groan.

‘Sorry,’ Brandon says.

Patrick sits up and grabs the box of tissues on his desk and spits. ‘It’s fine. I like the feeling, it just tastes like ass.’ He grabs an open can from the desk and takes a mouthful, pulling a face at it. ‘Ugh. Flat.’

Brandon glances down and realises that Patrick’s hard. Really hard. Straining against his jeans hard, really, and Brandon-- kind of has no idea what to do.

‘Shall I-- can I-- uh,’ he says, gesturing at Patrick’s erection.

Patrick grins. ‘You wanna suck me off?’

Brandon flushes. ‘I don’t-- I’ve never done it before. Never done much of anything before,’ he mumbles, and ducks his head.

‘Oh,’ Patrick says. ‘I thought-- What about that guy in AP Physics, weren’t you dating him for a while? Mark?’

‘Matthew,’ Brandon says. ‘And we mostly made out. Wait.’ He looks up. ‘You noticed that?’

Patrick shrugs. ‘Been noticing you for a while,’ he says. ‘Wait, does that mean-- am I your first?’

Brandon’s cheeks get even hotter. ‘You don’t have to make such a big _deal_ out of it.’

‘I’m not, I’m not,’ Patrick says in a rush. ‘It’s just--’ He grins, and kisses Brandon’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry, I totally am making a big deal, getting to be the first person to touch you like that is maybe the hottest thing ever.’

Brandon makes a strangled sound.

‘What?’ Patrick says, in his ear. ‘You don’t think it’s hot?’

‘I think,’ Brandon says. ‘That you should stop talking, and start showing me how you like to be jerked off.’

Patrick laughs. ‘I can do that. Gimme your hand.’

He laces his fingers in with Brandon’s, and pops the button on his jeans, tugging his dick out of the slit in his boxers.

It’s kind of short and slender, but this gorgeous dusky pink colour, and it curves to the right. Brandon hasn’t seen a lot of dicks, but Patrick’s is just as pretty as the rest of him, apparently.

‘You don’t have to,’ Patrick says, ducking down to catch Brandon’s eye. ‘I can-- myself, you know?’

‘I want to,’ Brandon says. Patrick’s smile is a little bit blinding.

Patrick likes it a little harder than Brandon, squeezing more than Brandon would as he jerks off, but he gets louder than Brandon, too, throwing his head back as Brandon gets something that could almost be a rhythm going.

Brandon acts on impulse, crowds up and kisses at Patrick’s neck, pushing the thumb of his free hand into the hollow of his throat carefully, and Patrick moans, and comes into their tangled hands.

‘God,’ Patrick says, a little breathy. ‘I’m gonna keep you _forever_.’

-

 _Three months later_

Brandon is, ostensibly, here to help Patrick pack. He’s driving to Seattle next week, and has to fit his entire life into the bed of his truck.

Instead of packing, he’s pinning Patrick to his bed and busying himself with kissing him stupid, knees planted either side of Patrick’s hips.

‘This seems counterproductive,’ Patrick says, between kisses. ‘My books aren’t going to pack themselves.’

Brandon hums. ‘We have time.’

‘True,’ Patrick says, and tilts his head so Brandon can bite at his throat.

-

‘Come with me,’ Patrick says, when he’s putting another box into the bed of his truck. ‘Just for the drive. You can fly back here in a few days.’

‘I dunno,’ Brandon says.

‘Come on, it’s not like you have obligations here,’ Patrick coaxes. ‘Don’t make me drive all that way by myself.’

Brandon heaves a suitcase up. ‘How am I gonna pay for a ticket to fly back here?’ he asks.

Patrick looks immediately guilty. ‘I-- might have bought you one already.’

‘You’re unbelievable,’ Brandon chides. ‘What if I’d said no?’

‘You haven’t yet,’ Patrick points out.

‘You’re terrible,’ Brandon says, stealing a kiss. ‘I don’t know why I love you.’

‘I’m charming,’ Patrick offers, kissing him back. ‘And very handsome.’

‘Eh,’ Brandon says. ‘You’ll do.’


End file.
